


The Iron King and the Tully Daughter

by Iranoutofroomtowriteanymore



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Asoiaf - Fandom
Genre: F/F, F/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rope Bondage, Threesome - F/F/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:14:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27461047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iranoutofroomtowriteanymore/pseuds/Iranoutofroomtowriteanymore
Summary: During Harwyn Hoare's invasion of the Riverland, three noble ladies become Insnared by the Ironborn king and his Greyjoy wife to become unwilling salt wives.
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally posted on Adult Fanfiction, however, due to extenuating circumstances, the majority of my work will be posted here for awhile.

**Chapter One**

Annila Tully glanced over her young body in her silk of reds and blues, it clung to the lush curves of the maiden's form, as her summer blue eyes followed the mirror down. Lord Tommen’s firstborn had blossomed into womanhood a mere three summers ago and was now ripe for being wedded and bedded, yet she still remained a maiden between the thighs. She anxiously smoothed down the folds of her dress, trying to ignore the knot of uneasy coiling in her belly.

Her elegant silk dress did little to help disguise the sublime contours of her figure. Its shimmering blue and red silk flowed over her hips and ass as she turned in front of the beaten silver looking glass, showing off the lady’s toned backside and long, smooth thighs. Her soft doe-skin shoes hugged her feet like lovers and sculpted her slender calves beautifully. A long slit started high on her left side, exposing much of her long, shapely leg. It clung tightly around her upper arms but exposed her creamy shoulders and defined collar bones. While her glossy auburn hair swished back and forth across her freckled lower back, tickling the tops of her buttocks. Pulling on her soft gloves, Annila turned to fetch the last piece, a thick and sturdy looking brown cloak.

“My lady, are you feeling well?”, Annila span toward the source of the soft voice, and saw the young daughter of Lady Anges Blackwood. Elrie Blackwood was only a few years into her maidenhood, yet had already become well known across the Blackwood Vale for her beauty. Elrie had thick, softly curling hair, as black as a raven’s feathers and large brown eyes. She had a slender yet curvy figure, a slim hourglass body, with unblemished and smooth pale skin. Elrie’s breasts were full and had a firm teardrop shape but were smaller than Annila’.

Under tresses of black hair her smile was sweet and shy with pretty white teeth and soft red lips. Although Elrie had never ridden more than three days from Raventree Hall, Annila thought of her as gentle and lively and had become fast friends during her time at House Blackwood.

“Yes, thank you”, Annila replied courtesy.

Elrie’s smile faltered, both Elrie’s lady mother and Annila’s lord father had ridden to war against Harwyn Hoare, their hosts had marched from Raventree Hall half a moon’s turn ago with no ravens to mark their progress. It worried the two maidens more than they could say. Annila knew her lord father and Lady Anges would meet Lord Lothar Braken on the road, then their combined strength would defeat the ironmen, she was sure of it.

“Maester Barrock has asked to see us in his tower”, Elrie voice was soft as she smoothed down the creases in her gown. She offered her arm to Annila.

As they crossed Raventree’s godswood, the great weirwood loomed over them its bone white branches reached high into the hard blue sky. The dead tree’s leaves were scattered over the bare earth, like a red Myrish carpet that softened their footsteps. The weirwood dwarfed the soldier pines, elms, and birches. Annila could not see the top of the tree, just an endless mass of five-pointed bloody leaves. It was a far cry from Riverrun’s godswood with its lush gardens full of colourful songbirds and radiant flowers.

“it’s just up here my lady”, Elrie stood before a banded iron oak door, a spiral staircase leading up.

Annila was panting by the time they reached the maester’s chambers and droplets of sweat had begun to bead on her chin and forehead. Annila brushed back a few errant locks of auburn hair as she finally reached the last step. Elrie gave her a shy smile, warm pink colouring her cheeks.

“My apologises Annila”, Elrie looked submissive. “I had grown so use to the steps, I forgot how many there were”.

Annila laughed and both young ladies turned to enter. The high-arched roof was held up by great beams of dark oak. At the small leaded window, Raventree Hall’s maester took with his back turned to them, a candle was grasped in one wrinkled hand. Annila could just make out the crinkled paper in his other hand reflexed on the glass panes.

“What does it say, Maester?”, Elrie asked politely.

Maester Barrock turned sharply, the letter grasped tight in his fingers. He was well-past his sixtieth name day, with lines to tell a lifetime of knowledge. His kind brown eyes and comforting simile were frozen in a forced expression, his features were pale. Barrock’s chain was forged from thick black iron loops, circlets of bronze, halos of sliver, and small discs of copper, all connected with links of a greenish-yellow metal. The chain’s links were mismatched, and it weighed heavily on Barrock’s thin neck.

“I-it is from your brother, my lady”, Barrock hesitated, his brown eyes fluttering anxiously. “It appears to be a report from the field”.

Elrie snatched the letter from his hand, her brown eyes quickly flicked back and forth as she read the message, her eyes grew larger after every sentience.

“What does it say?”, Annila’s whispered, her tummy curling into anxious knots.

“Its signed by Lord Harwyn Hoare, who now styles himself King of the Isles and the Rivers”, Elrie spat out through clenched teeth. Her mask slipped then, and tears began to trickle down her pale complexion in streams. “H-he. He’s captured my mother…”, she choked, “and my brother!”.

The maester turned his attention to Annila, “Lord Harwyn has won a victory over Lady Agnes’s levies and has captured the heir to Raventree Hall, Rolan Blackwood”. Barrock swallowed nervously before continuing, “He also claims to have taken hostage your lord father too”.

Annila stood in shock, _father_ … the ironmen were well-known to attack unwary fishing villages and prey on merchant sails, yet they had never dared to attack the castles further inland, let along try and conquer the riverlands. The lords of the Iron Islands were known to take hostages, however, be them man or maid. She tried to reassure Elrie Blackwood of that, but the younger girl only heaped scorn on the hope.

“They mean to plunder not conquer!”, Elrie snapped at her. “No, those _squids_ must have been emboldened by their new king”. 

Three quick loud knocks interrupted them, and before an answer could be given the door opened quickly. On the other side of the threshold was her lord father’s master-at-arms; Ser Lurs Grell. Lurs was lean and tall with a wiry strength, the chestnut mop of hair he had in his youth has long been shaved completely. His hard hazel eyes held a fierceness to them. Below he was enamelled sliver plate from neck to heel; inlays of red and blue interwinding together on the pauldrons, gauntlets, greaves, and cuisses. The breastplate and plackart were emblazoned with the three red martlets of his house.

“My ladies if you would follow me. There is a party at the gates, their waving the Braken sigil. That prancing red horse”. Lurs voice was rough.

“Ser, please. Have they brought word of the battle?”, Elrie asked softly.

Lurs shrugged. “Come”, was all he said before stepping forward to grab hold of the maester’s liver spotted wrist. Elrie was the first through the door and Annila was quick to follow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

They met the dozen riders at the main gate, between Raventree Hall’s huge square towers, mud splattered up from their horse’s hooves. The castlefolk were gathering around to watch as the rider trotted under the oak gates. Annila saw Elrie take a few steps towards their leader, her slender arms crossed for warmth. _Or was it in confrontation_ , Annila thought. She knew the enmity between Blackwood and Bracken went back hundreds of years. 

The brown Bracken banners hung listless against their staffs as a soft misty rain began to fall, Annila couldn’t see the red stallion or the gold shield of House Braken. The lord of Stone Hedge was riding a sorrel destrier that kicked and snapped fiercely at his bit. When Lothar climbed off his saddle, Annila saw it was wonderfully embroidered; with thick golden cloth under the fine brown leather saddle, the stirrups were forged of red steel, and the reins were red leather.

“My lord, please be welcome here, I am afraid my lady is off campaigning against the ironmen, yet I am sure she would’ve offered the hearth and salt of Raventree if she was pres-”, Maester Barrock said approaching Lothar Bracken.

“Yes”, Lothar cut off the maester’s words with a wave of a hand. “I’m sure me and mine are grateful for her ladyship’s hospitality. He turned to present his knights with a sweep of his hand, “I am certain Lady Agnes would want my true and leal knights to have suitable accommodations?”.

Lord Lothar Bracken had ridden with fifteen knights in escort, each in brown plate with their lord’s sigil engraved on their breastplates, and each one rode finely trained light bay coursers. The other men rode lesser mounts and were garbed in less wealthy silks and leathers, one of them looked especially uneasy on his grey rounsey.

“Yes, of course. However, you must understand the war ha-“, Barrock again attempted to answer, but Lothar did not give the old maester time to answer, instead he beckoned his daughter to come forward.

The girl that stepped forward had thick, soft chestnut hair, hung long and straight. She had slender shoulders and arms. The lady couldn’t have been past her twentieth name day, she surprisingly full-breasted and long-legged for a lady of her age. Annila thought she was small for her age.

“This is my firstborn and heir, Celia Bracken”, Lothar said.

Celia had smooth skin, so white it looked like she had just risen from a bath of milk. She had a pretty face with a small chin and delicate nose, her brown eyes did little to hide the contempt that curled her pouty red lips.

Lothar’s knights twisted their reins and spurred their mounts further into the outer ward. The last two riders were large men, grabbed in simple leather, Annila wrinkled her nose as the four trotted past, the stench of saltwater and fish clung to their clothes and bodies.

“My lord, have her perchance heard word from the Lord Tommen Tully or the Lady Anges Blackwood?”, her lord father’s master-at-arms asked, politely.

Lothar smiled wanly, “But first, who are these two young maidens, hmm?”. Utterly ignoring the question.

Ser Lurs Grell’s brow furrowed in puzzlement, yet he knew that he must always be respectful. “I, err. My lord, may I present the Lady Annila of Riverrun, daughter of Lord Tommen and the-“

“Oh yes. I remember the little lady Elrie”, Lothar grinned at her, his teeth were yellowed from wine.

The Blackwood girl was a lovely sight for certain. Despite how much Lothar might loath the Blackwoods, he could not deny the girl’s appealing figure. She had thick glossy hair that fell to the small of her back in a cascade of black curls. Her eyes were a deep brown, with a rebellious gleam barely hidden under the surface, almost like she was forbidden from showing it at her lady mother’s court. Elrie had a slender nose and high cheekbones, yet he ignored these features in favour for ones much more to his liking. Although her heavy scarlet cloak and black gown that the very tops of her full teardrop shaped breasts and her slender pale shoulders, Lothar saw her body was slim and slender as a girl of her age was, yet she still held a curvaceous figure.

Her breasts were smaller than her Tully friend, he guessed, the girl’s cloaks concealed much or their bodies, yet the way Annila’s chest push out the heavy brown wool confirmed his suspicions.

“Enough! What happened to my lady mother?! I-I demand an answer!”, Elrie all but shouted. Annila heard more mummering and agreements from Anges Blackwood’s household, and cautious glances from Maester Barrock and Lurs alike.

“Oh, demand it, do you?”, a thin high voice mocked. It was Celia Bracken who had spoken. A mocking simile curling the corners of her lips, while her sly brown eyes followed Elrie’s slender curves. Elrie glared fiercely at the Bracken girl.

Lord Lothar gave no answer himself, but instead turned to fiddle with his mount’s saddle bag. Annila saw that Elrie was growing even more frustrated. She must say something before her friend offended the lord’s honour. “Please, my lord, if you could provide us with any word of our families, we would be grateful. I-I understand in war that there are many false reports, yet I am sure my lord can help us”, Annila tried to sound as meek and courteous as possible, just like her Septa had taught her.

“Do you know much of war then, girl?”, Lothar’s voice was sharp, and it rang across the ward, he was still searching in his saddle bag.

“W-well no m-my lord, I just…”, Annila stuttered, warm pink colouring her cheeks in an attractive manner.

“No? then I’ll you a fine first lesson, never let your foe flank you. And never leave your castle unguarded. Mayhaps you could’ve told Lady Anges that”, Lothar said as she turned back to them, a letter crunched between his fingers.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

“Ahh! _Get off me_!”, Annila screamed.

One moment Raventree’s outer ward was quiet bar the uncourteous discussion between the Blackwoods and the Brackens, then next it had descended into a cacophony of bloodshed and screeching. The knight of Bracken had twisted their mounts around and charged at the assembled castlefolk; Raventree Hall’s steward, septon, kennelmaster, and serving girls and squires. Annila watched in horror as knight in the gold and brown of his liege rode down Lady Anges’s castellan, a young knight.

One moment she had been replying to Lord Lothar’s remarks with feeble words, then next she was thrown to the mud by the two smelly knight in Lothar’s party. 

A hard hand clamped down onto her mouth stifling another scream, it pushed her roughly down into the squelching mud, she gagged as mud filled her mouth. Annila spat in a futile effort to empty her mouth, the taste as unbearably fowl. As the man above her pushed harder, her cheek distorted against the hard ground beneath the wet soil, every scream became an unintelligible slur. Thick sludge filled her ears and blinded her eye. Her other eye rolled sideways to stare in fear at the tall man. He was wearing a filthy salt-stained jerkin. He grinned down at her showing rotting brown teeth.

She heard Elrie’s pleading squeals become distant, the clash of metal and the bellowing of Lurs’s thick growl. Suddenly a heavy sack was pulled over her head, the scratchy weave made wet sounds as her glossy auburn hair streaked with mud was enveloped by brown cloth. Her vision was reduced to the specks of light between the sack’s poorly woven fibers. Annila’s slender wrister were grabbed in an iron grip and held behind her back as she struggled and moaned, then a length of hempen rope was looped about her throat and tightened.

Annila gasped and writhed, but there was nothing she could be to prevent the inevitable, slowly were vision blurred, the screeching mass of noise around her muffled as her ripe young body became limp and malleable. 

The events that passed next were an indescribable, between her flickering eyelids, she caught glimpses of the rolling hills and blue streams of the Blackwood Vale. She was being carried away from Raventree she slowly realised, her mind had become clouded from a combination of the heavy sack that had been pulled tight around her neck and the increasingly humid air. Every jolt and shift of the horse beneath her caused Annila to moan weakly. In her weakened state, Annila’s attempts to loosen her wrist her futile; someone had bound her wrists and ankles with thick hempen rope, causing her to roll back and forth across the rounsey’s rear. Annila could just make out fragments of her captors’ conversation through the sack, spoken in rough voices as Lord Tommen’s daughter drifted in and out of slumber.

“The King wants her tonight… will make a fine salt wife… he ordered… to give Blackwood girl to Kina”, Annila heard one of the men mutter.

“Strange woman”, said voice from her right, likely riding alongside them. “Always has a few girls from raids…”, Annila heard the clop of cantering hooves as a rider urged his mount to move.

Grghhh!!

Annila yelped in shock as hard callused palm came down hard on her ass-cheeks, taking a few moments to squeeze her malleable silk-encased buttocks.

“Lush smooth skin and a backside built for bedding!”, the new voice roared. Annila desperately squirmed, yet with both limb tightly bound and body slowly succumbing to unwelcome dreamless sleep.

“Still awake, is she?”, the man riding the horse said. “… punished for days… Harwyn’s taken the blackwood girl first… mayhaps?”, the man added with a touch of hope. 

“No, Jadho”, the rider to Annila’s right protested fiercely. “King was her… unspoiled…”.

Only after a few moments did Annila’s faltering mind realised that her dearest friend had also been captured by these harsh men. A knife of desperate horror pierced her mind; these men must have taken Raventree and thus must have conquered Lady Agnes’s army and her lord father’s as well. Annila had grown up surrounded by her lord father’s knights and leal servants, as a girl she had played in the godswood with the other noble ladies of lesser blood, and when she was older they had shared secrets and giggled among one another over the boys training in the yard or her father’s fool. When Annila had flowered into a maiden; her lord father’s friends and vassals had visited, asking for her hand in marriage. Her friends and she had always hidden themselves in the audience chamber to giggle or blush over the newcomers, respectively. Riverrun’s cook had always baked her favourite, strawberry tarts. The Septa would teach them sewing and embroidery, while the yard was always filled with the excited chatter of green boys practicing their swordplay. 

Annila shuddered in revulsion as she felt another palm grope her supple backside, his fingers pinching cruelly into her soft feminine flesh.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Annila Tully was thrown through the silk door flaps of the Squid’s pavilion by a pair of rough hands pockmarked with calluses.

URRRGGH!!

She landed hard on the canvas floor, pain flaring up through her knees. Annila gasped in shock when the towering Summer Islander landed a hard palm on her right buttock, making it jiggle deliciously under the silk of her gown. The men left her there, rubbing her stinging backside, as both ironmen strode off into the camp, chortling between themselves. She was sure a bruise would blossom on her cheek within the morrow. Annila mewled softly as the pain slowly subsided. Glancing up anxiously, she tried to make note of other door flaps or holes cut out of the cloth to allow the day’s light to enter, yet Annila saw none. The only escape was behind her. The king’s pavilion was sewn of deep red cloth and was even larger than her lord father’s audience chamber, and furnished with every comfort; feather mattress and sleeping furs, a wood-and-copper tub large enough for two, braziers to keep off the night’s chill, slung leather camp chairs, a writing table with quills and inkpots. Bowls of fruit, glasses of chilled water and a flagon of wine with a set of matching silver cups rested on a small table beside the bed. Standing guard by the twisting oak tent pole was a magnificent suit of armour; deep green plate with three sprigs of mistletoe engraved in gold, its fittings were chased in red.

 _House Charlton!_ Annila recognised the glided plate from her childhood, Lord Theo Charlton had worn such an amour during a tourney hosted by her lord father at Riverrun. The ironmen’s king had captured it, she didn’t want to think to what that might mean. The ironmen had removed her binding when they had pulled her off the horse, yet there was nowhere to run. Annila had heard the muffled noise from the camp when they had trotted through it, a harsh combination of jeers and chuckling, ungallant comments, and the clank of steel against steel. If she turned and fled she would simply be dragged back.

Lady Annila was still desperately searching for a way out when Harwyn approached from behind, so engrossed in her mind that she didn’t even hear the king’s footsteps.

Harwyn grinned broadly as he admired the lush sight in front of him. He had been told by Lothar Bracken that the River lord Tommen’s daughter was an unsurpassed beauty, except by his own daughter of course. Harwyn hadn’t truly believed it until he saw her now; slim and slender, Annila possessed a long-legged and a full shapely breasted body. The girl’s reddish-bluish gown clung to her body as if she were soaked to the bone, the bodice scooped low enough for Harwyn to get an eyeful of pale lightly-freckled cleavage. Annila’s bare slender shoulder were hutched like some cornered prey. The silk had embroidered leaping silver trout across the silk. The silk had become so taut to her skin, that Harwyn could even make out Annila’s subtle belly as it clenched in fear.

The king noticed that she was now glancing anxiously at Charlton’s polished armour plate. Staring back, as if she was drowning from the bottom of a green pool. Harwyn took a few steps from the dark into the flickering light of the pavilion. It was then she realised his presence, her beautiful face paling in horror.

Annila let out a brief scream as Harwyn grabbed hold of her noble sylphlike neck, her breath catching in her throat, stifling her cries for mercy. The lady gasped and choked for air and kicked and clawed desperately at Harwyn’s brawny arms.

The king looked down at the daughter of Riverrun as she continued to squirm and struggle, he had a clear view of her cleavage with beads of sweat gleaming on the upper curve of Annila’s teats. Harwyn managed to tear his eyes away for a brief moment, only to then be distracted by her auburn hair glinted in the torchlight like a river of burnished bronze trailing down her back.

The ironborn king must have been at least a foot taller than her, Annila thought. She had to roll her eyes up as far as she could, revealing the whites, to be able to see him. Harwyn was impressed by the girl’s calm demeanour, apart from a nervous sallow and colour warming her cheeks.

“AAHH!!”, Annila squealed as the ironmen’s king quickly grabbed a handful of her glossy hair, burying his fingers in the girl’s auburn tresses. Harwyn dragged the squealing girl over to the tall tent pole and thrusted her svelte back against the banded iron wooden pole. “My Lord!”, Annila began, unable to hide the tone of desperation in her voice, “My father will pay a large ransom, I know. J-Just let me go!”.

Harwyn smirked, this green land girl seemed utterly ignorant of his customs. “Tell me, why should I pay with gold when I can claim with iron?”. 

He ran a finger along Annila’s slender left shoulder, surprisingly gentle, tracing the smooth curve of her collar bone. All the while Annila shuddered in disgust. Almost gently, he pulled the silken straps over her svelte shoulders and began to pull her gown down over the full curve of her breasts.

“No! _Please_!”, Annila gasped her palm rushed up to protect her dignity. Harwyn grunted in irritation as her delicate fingers covered her chest in a pathetic effort to protect her modesty, he roughly slammed her body back against the tent pole making it creak from the force. Annila moaned as her head rolled back and impacted the wooden pole, her vision becoming blurry and dark spots pushed at the edges of her sight. She was barely aware of what was happening now as Harwyn focused his attention on her chest. The king was almost mesmerised by the seemingly endless expanse of creamy cleavage presented by Annila’s gown, her full breasts proudly bouncing with each little struggle and denting the gossamer fabric with her pink nipples. Her bodice still hid her nipples, and due to the tautness of the gown, her full breasts were bulging over in an extremely attractive manner.

Nghhh!

Annila Tully groaned as Harwyn wrapped his strong digits around her gracefully sculpted midriff and +in one swift motion threw her onto the mass of sleeping furs. The girl’s full lips let out an unbidden soft moan while the wooden frame creaked from the sudden contact. Tully’s firm shapely thighs and lean calves lay haphazardly across the discord of animal furs. Harwyn could trace his gaze across the bare skin of her legs, clenching with fear, until he reached the womanly thickness of her upper thighs still covered by silk. He was able to still leer over Annila’s up thrusted slim belly and the subtle heave from the girl’s anxiousness. However, it was her utterly bare flawless tits that really drew the king’s attention. Annila’s bodice had slipped down over the lower curve of her tits revealing their perfect teardrop contours, Harwyn dry swallowed as he watched her light pink nipples gleam in flickering candlelight. Annila’s luscious mass of dishevelled auburn locks framed her beautiful pale features, her lips had lolled invitingly open giving Harwyn a clear view of her healthy pink gums and perfect white teeth.

The king grunted with lust as he repositioned his burgeoning manhood. His throat had become suddenly dry. Watching the young maiden squirm and writhe on the pile of sleeping furs made it difficult for Harwyn to think, not to mention her desperate wanton moans echoing through the silken walls of his pavilion. “Fuck…”, grunted, if one of the priests had told him that he had gone to the Drowned God’s watery halls to be attended by his beautiful mermaids he would not have been shocked.

“ _My lord!_ ”, Annila pleaded. Unable to keep desperation and horror from her voice, as she watched Harwyn began to unfasten the buttons of his salt-stained leather jerkin. Underneath, the king wore a linen tunic that clung to his board chest. The ironman quickly pulled it over his head. Annila almost gasped when she beheld Harwyn’s bare torso; he had muscular shoulders and a board chest that were defined with muscle, below his torso curved down to a midsection that was striated with hard muscled that flexed with unrivalled strength.

Harwyn had a hard chiselled smooth jawline, sea green eyes, and dark brown hair. Annila trembled at the cold sadistic gleam in his eyes. The king, at six and a half feet built like a bull dwarfed the sleek and girlish body of Annila. Suddenly the king leaped upon the sleeping furs, with an unbidden growl of lust and took a firm grip of Tully’s dishevelled bodice. Annila let out a shriek of fright as her gown was torn all the way down to her toned lower belly, she renewed her struggles with even more desperation. Harwyn grunted as one of her fist connected with his jaw hard enough to cause bleeding, cursing under his breath he wrapped her fingers around her wildly flailing wrists and held them down on the furs. She still attempted to fight him by jerking her hips and legs, although the sheer muscular weight of the king denied her any real chance.

Laying one arm across her slender throat, he wiped his free hand across the place where she had struck him, only having to lean down with his arm when she squirmed again. His fingers came away from his cheek red and wet. “You will pay for that blood, girl. No, no quiet I’ll not hear more pleas. If you keep fighting, I’ll have you tied to the prow of every ship in the fleet. That or I will give you to each captain. One each night”.

“ _P-please_ …”, Annila whimpered. Her eyes fluttered shut and opened, and whatever final fragment of willpower the girl still had left. A few rouge tears trickled down her pale cheeks. Harwyn grunted in disgust, the women of the greenlands were also so soft and supple, their men protection had only weakened their resolved. It was no surprise that all salt wives were rightfully taken by the ironborn during raids, if the men of the mainland could not keep their wives and daughters safe then it was only natural that the iron price was paid for them.

With the remaining scraps of silk now torn from her ripe young body, leaving Annila in nothing but her white silken small clothes. Harwyn slowly climbed from the furs, looking over her he saw her clinging dress had been mostly torn away, leaving her in her silk small clothes. Annila’s full breasts were encased in a white corset with linen strings tied behind her back, her struggles had dishevelled the top of her half-cup corset, so the rounded edges of her conch-shell pink aureoles could be seen peeking out above it. The rest of the corset had intricately patterned silver lace of a school of trout sewn into the white silk which traced the contours of her hourglass figure almost enviously. Harwyn’s hips twitched with need as his sea green eyes fell upon her flawless, ten and nine years old breasts, they were held together at the centre of her chest and forming a deep valley of snow-white cleavage that was simply mesmerizing. Below Annila wore medium length drawers, sewn from the same white silk, that hugged her flaring hips and covered her most intimate places with sliver lace. Taking a firm hold of her left hip, silently appreciating the warmth of the girl’s skin and the smooth texture of the silk and lifted her up slightly. Tully’s drawers had become wedged deep between the smooth globes of her sculpted thick ass-cheeks.

Growing tired every fresh layer of fabric that he found, Harwyn hooked his fingers into the loose silk, and with a horrifying show of strength, ripped them clean off Annila’s hourglass hips and rounded buttocks. The auburn-haired maiden squealed in surprise. Harwyn brought the finely sewn white silk to his nose and took a long sniff, exhaling her sweet fragrance of blooming petals and fresh cut grass, he felt his manhood flex as hard iron beneath his ruff leather pants. The King grinned when he noticed the slender line of soaked silk, where the drawers had become wedged in between the girl’s ass-cheeks, sweat had stained the fabric a noticeably darker shade.

As naked as her nameday, her soft heaving torso was completely bare, and her flawlessly smooth skin still retained a light sheen of perspiration after Annila's forces to adoption. The result was that her taut, girlish belly looked good enough to eat off of; and Harwyn couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to run his tongue all the way up from between Annila’s legs to the undersides of her tits, to collect up the young girl’s ambrosial sweat and taste it while she arched her lower back and pressed her belly up into his face.

He began sliding his hand down over the girl’s toned body and, *SMACK!*, landing a firm spank on her well-rounded backside. Annila yelped at the sudden strike, blushing in a mix of shame and humiliation.

" _BASTARD_!" She shrieked. "My lord father will find you and kill you, h-he'll burn your ships! And crush your pathetic rocks!", Annila desperately tried to as fearless as her lady mother, yet she could hear the panic in her voice. The Tully girl knew what would have happened to her lord father and his knights if what lord Bracken claimed was true, yet there was always a shard of hope that somehow he had escaped the ironmen.

Harwyn chuckled darkly. When any captured green land’s nobles had spoken to him in such a manner, he would have simply slit their throats and offer their cold corpses to the Drowned God. Yet the young Tully girl was worth her weight in gold, though it wasn’t a dowry that Harwyn wanted from the girl. He was sure the god had his fill of blood today, Harwyn thought as he moved his palm to grope her luscious bubble-like ass-flesh. Unbidden he let out a low grunt as his fingers sank into ass cheeks, he was barely able to believe how good Annila’s skin felt beneath his palms. And beside it was good to know that she had finally found a spine. It would make breaking her so much more enjoyable. 

Giving her ass a good squeeze to left ass-cheek and jiggled it roughly from side to side, displaying just how thick and luscious her creamy buttocks truly where.

"Little girl, understand this. These lands are mine. These rivers are mine. These castles, people and gold are mine. You are mine". The King said, he tightened his grip upon her trembling ass to prove his point. "I swear that you will never forget it". He added.

“No please!”, Annila whimpered, but it was already too late. Harwyn shoved his palms between her thighs and roughly spread them out, making Annila gasp in horror. The king felt is manhood flex with need when his fingertips scraped along the petal-soft insides of her thighs, it was even more difficult to control himself when he felt the tender bare skin either side of her sleek maidenhood mound. Annila pressed her lips together in effect no to betray her feeling as Harwyn began to brush his fingers slowly up and down her most inmate and sensitive spot.

“ _Mmmmhhh_ ”, Annila moaned when Harwyn hooked his fingers, then immediately blushed in response. _Oh gods! Father, help me!_. Her slender, yet shapely thighs had begun to tremble as the Ironborn king strengthen the pace of his fingers. Annila could do nothing to stop this cruel king, however, as Harwyn was spurred on by the intense heat and slippery tenderness of the lady’s small, girlish cunny. He was savouring every whimper and soft moan that heir to Riverrun let out through her perfectly white and straight teeth.

Harwyn watched the Tully girl writhe as her maidenhead clenched involuntary around his fingers, Annila’s back arched suddenly as pleasure stabbed though her lower body. Before Annila could reach the peak of pleasure, Harwyn ripped his fingertips from her small pink cunt, leaving her gasping in surprise.

“ _Uugh_. N-no _why_?”, Annila whimpered as her thighs squirmed against each other. 

Suddenly the king took a firm grip of Annila’s hips and sharply turned her over onto her front, so her sweaty breasts bulged out against the bed and left stains of the animal furs. The Tully girl nervously glanced back over her shoulder, frightened blue eyes gleaming in the flickering candlelight framed by wild tresses of soft auburn hair. Annila prayed silently to the Maiden and Warrior for protection as she glanced up at the ironborn king looming muscular torso. Placing his hands against the small of her back, Harwyn made her arch her lower back and pushing out her ass, giving himself a mouthwatering view of her sculpted ass-cheeks. Harwyn dry swallowed as her heart-shaped ass-cheeks jiggled with luscious malleability.

Sliding his hands down over the curves of her buttocks, he cupped them harshly, one shapely glute in each hand, and pulled them apart, exposing the ultra-tender skin of her petal-soft inner ass-cleavage. She noticed Harwyn’s breathing change: The Ironman King was inhaling more deeply, his nostrils flaring as his chest rose and fell with arousal. Unknowing that his lust had just been spiked sharply up, Annila tightened her ass-cheeks completely and struggled. Unintentionally display just how perfect her ass really was. The King sank his fingers deep into the silken flesh of her spread buttocks, squeezing and lifting them, affording himself a virtually unobstructed view of her plump pussy mound.

"A-Aaaah P-please! Your Grace that hurts!" Annila moaned, mayhaps desperate enough to hope if she sounded meek the king might not punish her more. He could literally feel her supple glutes yielding to his grasp, their tender alabaster surfaces being moulded and remoulded according to his will as he crushed them and jiggled them and roughly spread them apart.

"Ugghh". Was all she could utter, as fresh tears streamed down her face and fresh sweat broke out in beads across her curvaceous figure. The King was pleased to see it focusing on her lush cleavage, her freckled lower back, her slender shoulders, and graceful neck. Sweat speckled over her slim twitching heaving toned belly. In all it simply made her more desirable, if that was even possible, highlighting every sculptured curve and supple surface.

Annila bubbly ass-cheeks tensed and quivered when Harwyn pulled his thick long cock free, he was utterly hard now, and the veins in his manhood pulsed with virial need. Harwyn grinned in almost child-like glee. _This will be sweet as saltwater_ , Harwyn thought as he bounced the bulbous head of his cock against Annila’s perfect ass, against both cheeks, admiring the way they rippled.

“Oh gods. No…”, Annila’s voice quavered with utter horror, “My lord, please…”

Annila peered back at Harwyn fearfully, as she trembled at the feeling of his thick manhood push, inch by inch into her bare maidenhood. This was going to be a very long night.


	5. Chapter Five

“I demand that you realise my mother and Annila!”, the lady Elrie Blackwood screamed, her slender limbs struggling piteously against the thick hemp rope.

Alerah Greyjoy watched the quivering curves of the blackwood girl with an amused smirk. The young noble had been dragged through the tent struggling; her long legs kicking wildly as two of her men had gripped her wrist and pulled her towards the four post featherbed. Alerah had ordered her to be bent over the footboard, her ankles tied to the heavy wood feet, and her wrists to the headboard posts with loops of thick rope tightened around the dark mahogany. After they had finished, Alerah had taken a step back to admire their work.

Elrie’s long gracefully curved legs flexed with sleek muscles as she desperately squirmed against the bonds, while her svelte torso was tied horizonal to the featherbed, with her arms tautly stretched by rope. The young lady’s position had the desired effect of sculpting her long thighs and calves in a truly beautiful manner, it almost made Alerah envious. The Blackwood girl’s rounded plump ass-cheeks had formed a heart shaped above her shapely hips, with her trim slender waist was pulled across the bed, Elrie’s perky medium-sized, yet nonetheless full breasts were pressed down into the feathers. Alerah moistened her lips when she laid her eyes on Elrie’s bulging side-boob.

The maiden’s black and red gown with embroidered white raven on the chest had been torn off her young body, as had her heavy scarlet cloak. A piece of her silken smallclothes had been gleefully peeled off her struggling body by a crowd of leering thralls before Alerah had ordered her to be hauled away, now the only garment left on her were black silken drawers that displayed a good third of Elrie’s creamy smooth buttocks and adhered faithfully to every curved of her behind.

Turning away from the appealing sight, Alerah lifted the heavy brown canvas flap of the large and richly appointed tent. Ducking her head through the slit, her thick black hair brushing across her face from the chilly night air.

“Xhondo! Come in here, now”, Alerah demanded, and a large muscular man with skin as black as ink stepped immediately into the tent. Elrie glanced fearfully over her shoulder, her glossy thick hair was a wild cascade down her willowy upper back, as black as a raven’s wing. Her enticing brown eyes were wide with fear, her beautiful fine features flushed with embarrassment.

A moment later, a massive man with skin as dark as polished jet. From Elrie’s position the man must have been over six foot, by the way he towered over the bound maiden. His body was clearly refined from years of fighting at sea, he had had a bull’s board shoulders and chest. With powerful flexing muscles that stretched the boiled leather of his garb to its limits. 

“By the gods!”, Elrie’s eyes widened at the sight of the Summer Islander, she had never seen there sort before in her life only hear tales and poems from errant singers come to her mother’s hall to entice her with their lutes. Not that she even listened to the singers, yet still faint memories of how lewd and coarse the Summer Islands were still sprung to her mind’s eye. The people of that land worshipped some perverse foul demon that played with the bodies of its subjects. “ _What does he want?!_ ”, Elrie squeaked, noticing the large black man’s feral lust-filled eyes.

“Aw don’t you like my sworn sword”, the ironwoman asked with mock concern, “I think you’ll offended him, ha! Show her your sword”.

The Summer Islander simply grunt as Elrie stained her neck to see the longsword strapped to his belt. She struggled more urgently, as sheer terror gripped her heart. In one horrifying moment, she was convinced that the massive black man meant to drive the point of his longsword through her lower back.

“P-please!”, Elrie gasped, “Ser please don’t, don’t kill me!”, her face paled when the man smirk at her helpless struggles, her shapely backside jiggling in an attractive way.

“I’m not some southron knight, you fucking green lander thrall!”, Xhondo growled. Hissing with anger, the Summer Islander laid the flat of his blade against the girl’s trembling round buttocks, taking a moment to admire of the sharp steel bit ever so slightly into the girl’s smooth youthful creamy skin as she whimpered in response. Xhondo snorted and brought the longsword’s flat side down hard onto the girl’s up-thrusted ass-cheeks. The noise that Elrie made was barely human as she throw her head back in agony, her lush black hair flowing about her upper back as she squirmed against the bonds. The blow was so hard that Elrie thought her hips would break of the force. The cruel Summer Islander wrapped all of his black fingers around the hilt, to make sure that the longsword didn’t twist in his grip and actually cut the girl and landed the side down again and again onto the girl’s ass. Elrie’s full heart-shaped buttocks jiggled and rippled as the steel impacted, bright pink prints blossomed on her cheeks.

“Ahhh! N-no! Stop, please!”, Elrie yelped, as shockwaves rippled across her ass-cheeks’ supple white surfaces. 

After several long torturous minutes of the massive Summer Islander slamming the longsword against the raven haired lady’s buttocks, all the while Elrie’s perky shapely ass-cheeks were in constant motion, bouncing up and down and left and right, until her once alabaster-white skin was a cherry red sheen. The once fierce young girl had turned into a sobbing, sweat-drenched mess weakly trembling on the sleeping furs.

Xhondo’s arms ached from prolonged winging of his longsword, reaching forward he into her glute, and crushed the tender globe of soft muscle, causing Elrie’s bubbly white cheeks to bulge around his thick black fingers. Elrie groaned in desperation, the daughter of Blackwood was quickly coming to the limits of her strength. The position allowed her no freedom of movement, with her legs spread far apart, her lower back arched down at an acute angle, her tender ass thrust-up, and her arms stretched out infront of her. Now her whole body was gleaming in sweat, heavy beads rolled down her upper slender back in rivulets pooling in the indentation of her lower back. Glistening sweat plastered her luscious black hair to her svelte body, as the girl glanced over her shoulder, droplets of sweat drippled down her face and neck. Her ass-cheeks gleamed brightly in the flickering candlelight and shimmered against her sweat dappled thighs and calves. 

“I think that’s enough now, my sweet Summer Islander”, Alerah smirked. For the entirety of Elrie’s punishment she had rested in a camp chair, and slowly slipped her finger in the waistband of her salt-stained leather pants, to her dampening cunt. As the Blackwood girl screamed and struggled bound to the bed, as sweat droplets flaw of her thrashing buttocks. “Where is your mother’s gold?”, Alerah asked.

“W-what? I-I don’t understand”, Elrie looked completely helpless, her eyes wide and confused, her cheeks flushed pink, and a few stray locks of hair as black as a raven’s wing clinging to her gleaming forehead. Elrie’s brows were arched in the middle, as she stared up with a look of part fear part puzzlement.

Alerah sighed in annoyance, if the girl were going to be this uncooperative then mayhaps she would need a more persuasive method of questioning the young lady. The Greyjoy reached down and took a firm grip of the hemline of her brown quilted tunic and slowly began to pull the rough garment over her head, giving Elrie a eyeful of the ironborn’s slim toned belly. Elrie began to blush as she watched the slow reveal of the limber line of musculature dividing Alerah’s midsection, until the tunic reach the firm undersides of Alerah’s round breasts. The brown fabric pulled taut over her tits, until finally with in hard tug, the Greyjoy pulled the tunic over their shapely curves and over her head. Elrie closed her eyes for shame and glanced away, her cheeks deepening with the rose hue, as Alerah’s firm yet perfectly sculpted tits settled high on her chest, after a brief jiggle, forming beautifully bulging lightly-hued cleavage. Her nipples were small hard and dark pink, already taut from watching Elrie’s brutal punishment.

“Mmmha”, Alerah heard her sworn sword grunt in disguised lust, a stark contradiction to Elrie’s blushing features twisted away from her, her body now trembling in fearful anticipation.

“Ha! I do believe Xhondo prefers my curves to your nubile body, my lady!”, Alerah japed.

But the Greyjoy Rockwife to the king had more plans with the young Blackwood daughter than to simply compare their desirable figures. Her brown tunic had reached down almost to her knobbly knees, and when wrapped over itself, as she did now, would form an almost four foot long rope of swirled tunic. The sturdy brown linen would give the improvised rope a robust nature. Walking over to the small bowl in elegant, engraved iron stands, dipping the long swirl of tunic into the cold salt-water. Alerah turned to face Elrie’s stretched out young ripe body, sharply testing the strength of the soaked linen with hard tugs, while making the girl’s sweat-drenched curves flinch in anxious response.

“Now my lady, don’t struggle, you’ll just make it worse”, Alerah groaned as Elrie began squirming and wrenching at her rope bonds. The Greyjoy tied one end of her soaked tunic around both of Elrie’s slender wrists and securing the other end around the sturdy oak frame on which the sleeping furs rested on. Alerah watched as a few droplets of chilly salt-water ran down her uselessly flexing upper arms, before she pulled a long wooden great-sword handle free from the bedside table and slotted it between the soaked lapels of her tunic. This effectively created a rack-like design had Elrie Blackwood stretched out before the grinning Ironborn.

Alerah smirked leaned over to get a grip of the wooden handle, while making sure she kept her long sleek legs straight, allowing Xhondo a perfect view of her long rangy thighs and calves filling out the tight contours of her breeches of deep green wool. The Greyjoy allowed her Summer Islander to feast his black eyes on her full-toned ass-cheeks as they flexed and clenched under the heavy wool, as she started to turn the wooden hilt end over end on itself.

“No! no! _Please!_ ”, Elrie shrieked as she felt the salt-water soaked tunic tightened the length between her trembling slender fingers and thick wood frame. Rivulets of water were squeezed from the twisting fabric, damping the furs beneath her, Elrie gasped as she felt her wrist were straighten and stretched out. As Alerah continued to turn the hilt over and over again, the hempen ropes became looser as the tunic tightened and shrank. Elrie whimpered as the soaking wet linen began to bite into her slender wrists, making them blossom red from the tension. Alerah grunted in surprise when Xhondo landed a firm palm on her wood encased buttocks.

“Aha Aha, there’ll time for that later”, Alerah said as she straightened up, a rueful grin spread across her sharp features, as Xhondo wrapped one muscular arm as black as ink around her sleek torso to grope her left breast. Alerah smirked at Elrie’s horrified expression glancing up over her shoulder, her arms stretched taut before her, as the Summer Islander mauled her shapely tear-drop breast between his clenching fingers. Taking hold of the bold hand, Alerah turned around and grasped Xhondo’s other hand, “Do me this service, and mayhaps I’ll reward it later”, Greyjoy promised as she laid both of Xhondo’s hands down on the hilt as the Blackwood girl moaned in desperation. “Now turn it”, Alerah commanded, as she turned and sank down in one of the slung camp chairs, draping one leg over an armrest and pouring herself a cup of wine. 

The Greyjoy wife settled down to watch the show as the Summer Islander grunted as he turned the hilt over and over again, while Elrie yelped and gasped, mayhaps he was keen to she the task complete quickly. Clearly Xhondo had no care for the lady’s survival as he growled and jerked the hilt around. Elrie’s lissom arms were wrenched up the length of the sleeping furs in a haphazard manner.

Even though it had only been a few minutes of stretching yet Elrie’s thighs and calves were being pulled into the dark mahogany frame and now excruciating cramps were running up and down her legs. Every inch of her svelte muscles were twitching and clenching spasmodically. Her sleek lower back was now aching from the sustained, unnatural contortion the ironborn had bound her in.

Elrie’s had not the silver links of knowledge that a maester studied in the functions of the body would have, and thus did not understand the lactic acids that were making her shoulders burn. Suddenly the towering Summer Islander paused for a moment, Elrie had to bite her lip to keep from thanking his mercy, however, he only stopped to wipe his hands dry of salt-water and lust over every inch of her curvaceous body and nubile back shaking with barely held back fatigue before he resumed her torment.


End file.
